October Leaves
by michellemybelle25
Summary: A little bit of fall fun.


Happy Halloween! Yes, it's been a LONG time since I've posted anything. But this is my favorite time of year, and I wanted to share a story that just feels like fall. If it makes you think of leaves and pumpkins and everything autumn, then I'm thrilled. :) For more Phantom stories, I have a lot published right now, including my newest novel, "The Hero Beneath the Villain's Mask", available on amazon. Check out Michelle Gliottoni Rodriguez on Facebook for more information about things to come.

Have a fun and spooky holiday!

"October Leaves"

Being a part of an opera company meant hours and hours dedicated to rehearsal in an old building. Walls and ceilings and nary a glimpse of the outside world, most especially when a performance neared. Aside from the occasional streaks of sun peeking in from the rooftop windows, natural light was hard to come by.

As such, oftentimes seasons came and went with little notice from the opera's performers. Perhaps a reference when snow became a nuisance to arriving to rehearsal on time or when the summer heat permeated indoors and left the air in the corridors more stifling than usual. If nature did not make the effort to touch their cloistered world, nature went without acknowledgment, …except for one certain day of the year.

It was a rarity to have an afternoon free of rehearsals, but every October on one specifically set date on the calendar, the managers had a meeting with those on the highest tier of production to discuss costs for the upcoming holiday season. Maybe it was in anticipation for shouting and curses as costs were estimated, but the managers emptied out the theatre for their venture and the cast never questioned the hours of unusual freedom.

October, a month known for its colors and beauty, and Christine was thrilled that she was finally going to get the chance to be a part of it. Well…once morning rehearsal ended. A day with half as many hours to work, and it felt like the longest day of the year, especially when Christine's role in the current production made her feel like a piece of the backdrop instead of a character.

A maid with a total of six lines whose predominant blocking was to stand upstage and 'look pretty' or so the stage director had assigned. In a way, such pointlessness made her miss her days as a ballerina. Even as one of a flock of too many tutus, she at least _moved_ when onstage; this maid's role was the equivalent of playing a coat rack!

Across the stage, the ballerinas were readying for their entrance, and as Christine watched, her best friend Meg Giry met her eye and leapt out of character to wave and gesture to the clock hanging in one corner. Twenty-five more minutes before dismissal and the start of their fun. The girls had plans, and Christine could hardly wait for them to be underway.

The rest of rehearsal was drawn-out torture as minute to minute crept slowly by, and yet every second seemed to intensify the excitement fluctuating the flock of ballerinas. They were jumpy and a bit rushed in their steps, leading to a scolding from Madame Giry and a reminder that they were not dismissed yet.

Twenty minutes, then fifteen to go, and at ten, Madame gave up entirely, her pasty pallor flushed red in her aggravation as she shooed the girls offstage with a threat should they be so distracted the next day.

Oh, to be a ballerina! Yelled at but _free_. Christine watched them rush off with longing eyes, even edging a step forward as her yearning sought to go with them. But no. She was trapped as background to La Carlotta's duet with Signor Piangi. And even if the diva cared only about _herself_ in every scene, Christine had no doubt that if she tried to slip away, Carlotta would react like an alerted wild animal and pounce with claws and teeth.

The last tutu was gone, but to Christine's relieved delight, Meg scampered back to peer out from the wings and soundlessly speak a bunch of words Christine could not decipher. The gist of the message seemed to be that the ballerinas would be waiting in their dressing room for her and about a dozen extra syllables and superfluous gestures reiterated the point ten times over. Christine gave a small, barely perceptible nod, and with a bright smile, Meg rushed off.

Like a match strike, La Carlotta darted cold eyes to Christine for a split second before returning to her scene. It was quick, but it was enough to leave Christine shuddering and shrinking a step toward the backdrop.

Oh, that evil woman. Ever since Christine had successfully… _more than_ successfully sung Carlotta's abandoned role for the Gala night performance, Carlotta had decided to make it her mission to keep Christine ground to the floor beneath her feet. She seemed determined to leash Christine's talent and potential, and although everyone was allowing her cruelty for the moment, Christine knew it was only a matter of time until someone snapped, whether it be she finally gaining enough courage to stand up for herself or her teacher already an inch from an explosive response. But for now…Christine simply lingered back and awaited a final dismissal with impatient glances to the direction she wished to be going at every second.

"All right," the stage director Monsieur Reyer called over his cast members. "We will leave it there for the day and pick up at this exact spot tomorrow."

Christine's nerves were a tight ball, every muscle on edge and waiting for his final farewell. One more sentence, and she would be darting like mad for the wings and freedom with her friends.

"You are dismissed."

No sooner than the last syllable hit the air, Christine was gone, running and not caring who saw. A little giggle caught in the back of her throat at her exuberant excitement. _Finally_! And now the fun would begin and-

"Christine."

It was like striking a brick wall. All eagerness shattered with a surprising rush of disappointment to be halted in the wings by an unexpected visitor. The Vicomte de Chagny, and whereas Christine usually delighted in his frequent appearances, today with a destination waiting, his presence was only a nuisance and another chain holding her back.

"Raoul… What are you doing here?"

A sheepish grin spoke far more than words as he shifted awkwardly on his feet and seemed to seek a suitable reply. "I… Well, I was supposed to attend this afternoon's production meeting with the managers. They invite the patrons every year in an attempt to gain donations. I typically don't go. There's no need when my family donates anyway, but…I'd hoped to bump into you…almost literally as it turned out."

"Oh…" Yes, three more steps would have had her crashing into the Vicomte upon her exit. Should she be embarrassed that it could have happened or disappointed that it hadn't? Raoul was quite handsome, and his attention to her was the envy of every female in the opera company. Practically running into his arms wasn't _too_ horrible a situation, but… Again, Christine considered where she currently wanted to be, and she was only annoyed.

"Actually," the Vicomte continued, casting her an even brighter grin, "I was thinking about foregoing the meeting altogether. I really _don't_ wish to listen to the managers detail their expenses, including how costly it is to hand-sew every shimmering bead onto La Carlotta's costume. …I can't help but think that if _you_ were playing the lead, the cost would be cut in _half_. With half as much material to bedeck, one would think the cost reduction alone would be incentive to returning _you_ to center stage."

He was obviously seeking her approval and trying to please her in his words, and she granted him a smile as she replied, "If you tell them that at the meeting, they might accuse you of favoritism."

"I'll take it," the Vicomte declared without sway. "It's true after all. You are my _favorite_ in every category. Perhaps if I say so to the managers…maybe include a little threat, nothing devious, but a warning that I could pull my family's generous funding if I am not pleased…"

He shrugged and left it at that, and Christine quickly shook her head. She already had one man willing to throw threats for her career and his had life or death consequences. The Vicomte hurling his own equivalent when _money_ was life or death in _his_ world was only going to earn her spite all around and a jealous Opera Ghost in his shadow.

"Thank you, but I'm trying _not_ to engage La Carlotta these days," Christine teased. "Her vengeance is the stuff of nightmares, and…I'd much prefer keeping on her perturbed but less venomous side."

"Ah," the Vicomte understood with a nod. "Yes, she does seem the sort that would slip arsenic in your glass and then weep melodramatically at your funeral."

"Exactly," Christine agreed. "Let's not rile the tiger."

With a chuckle, Raoul concluded, "All right. No threats in the name of your talent, but…as per my actual intention, what if I forego this meeting and the headache that will surely come after it and…perhaps you could help me find something better to do?"

Hope-filled and so very sweet. Before Christine could find a way out of the veiled invitation, a rush of footsteps had them both darting eyes to the corridor. Meg, no longer tutu-ed and obviously bubbling in her excitement, ran a handful of frenzied steps before her eyes landed on the Vicomte and she halted, abrupt and nearly losing her balance. Meg's wide, green gaze shifted between Christine and the Vicomte as she shrugged guiltlessly and inched steps back toward the open dressing room door.

The second Meg was out of sight, Raoul chuckled and asked, "What was that about?"

"Oh… The ballerinas are overly excited. They rarely get out of the opera house, you know, and today… Well, it's a tradition. The trees are changing and losing their leaves by the armful, and in the park, the caretakers will have cleaned them from the walkways. They don't pick them up until the last leaf falls."

"Oh, I see, and so the girls are en route to the park to…what exactly? Frolic in the leaves like children?"

"And see all the beautiful colors," Christine quickly defended, an uneasy twisting in her belly. "As I said, it's tradition, and…there's nothing wrong with enjoying nature."

The Vicomte snickered as he insisted, "Enjoying nature is one thing; acting like over-stimulated children is another. I'm sure there's a lot of screaming and immaturity involved, but I suppose that's to be expected from such a group. _Ladies_ do not act in such a manner. Not when playing in leaves is such childish behavior."

As Christine absorbed his assessment, she felt herself frowning. Her mind envisioned the scene and looked at it from the Vicomte's perspective. A dozen girls running through leaf piles, giggling and shrieking with never a thought that anyone noticed their silliness or that passers-by in the park probably considered them obnoxious and mocked their exuberance.

She'd never pondered such things before, but…he had a valid point: ladies did not play in leaves. She had a thought that if she went on an outing this afternoon with the Vicomte, it would involve sitting daintily in a café, enacting perfect table manners and guarding her tongue, certainly no loud laughter or… _fun_.

"Is…it truly such a horrendous notion to act childish on occasion?" she hesitantly asked with a glance in the direction of a dressing room full of girls who were waiting for _her_ to be childish with them.

"Not for those with no care for the reputation they are sowing. I don't think your ballerina friends are as cognizant of their overall impression on society as _you_ are. I…," he shrugged, "am not seeking to seem rude, but they are a rather capricious bunch. I doubt they could ever be called _ladies_ when their childish behavior is unforgiveable in the real world." Another shrug, and he confided as if it were a great secret, "That's only one more reason I'm actually glad you are no longer one of them. You're so much more sophisticated than those girls. It wouldn't be fair that their antics dragged your name down with theirs. You _are_ a lady, Christine."

Was she? …Maybe the better question was: did she _want_ to be a lady? Raoul made it seem so very important, a title of distinction that perhaps made their unorthodox relationship redeemable in his world. As a _lady_ , she might eventually be tolerated even if never accepted. But…ladies did not play in leaves…or play _in general_. Ladies seemed rather boring and stuffy, and yet being on par with the ballerinas suddenly felt embarrassing and shameful. She almost cursed the Vicomte for making her see things with _his_ eyes.

"Christine," he sought to recapture her attention, quickly inquiring, "I didn't upset you, did I? That wasn't my intent. I know those girls are friends to you, but that is in a world where you are limited in options. Maybe…if you were a part of _my_ world, you would gain a new assortment of people to associate with. Ones who would uplift your name, not soil it."

Christine wanted to protest that she doubted she could _ever_ be a part of his world, not when her career choice already drove her a dozen levels beneath society's highest tiers. She was an outcast, and that wasn't likely to change even with the Vicomte's attention and approval. But he looked at her with such hope, scripting her into something she knew she could never be.

"Raoul… I should go-"

"But wait," he hastily bid, catching her hand before she could attempt to scurry away. "I never got the chance to formally request an afternoon in your company. What do you say, Christine? Let me take you out, and we can finally have the chance to reacquaint ourselves. It's been _years_ , since we were children, and now that we've crossed paths again, you're all I can think about. Let me get to know the woman you grew up to be."

Had she grown up? Christine still felt like that little girl, half-dazzled by his presence and half-terrified of it. "Raoul, I… I actually have a lesson, and my teacher will be cross if I miss it."

"A lesson on your afternoon free from rehearsal?" the Vicomte posed with a grimace. "Your teacher sounds quite unreasonable. Everyone deserves a break after all. …Can you not feign an illness or injury, something to gain you your freedom without blame for the day?"

"Certainly not!" she interjected as if the greatest offense. "My lessons are imperative to my career, and as my teacher has told me before, my art requires sacrifice. I _can't_ miss my lesson, Raoul. I'm sorry." A part of her meant the apology when she glimpsed the disappointment he never tried to conceal.

"Oh…all right then," he concluded in a tinge of somberness as he released her from a hold she found herself dubbing too tight. "I would not stand in the way of your career, but…don't forget there's a world outside of music as well. You're going to miss out on _life_ and someday regret that you didn't take the time when you could have."

There might have been truth to his words if she truly _did_ have a lesson. No, she'd been _trying_ to enjoy life and somewhere in the midst of the conversation, he'd spoiled it for her.

One last look where she saw longing in his blue stare, and he took his leave, and all she could think was that if she hadn't nearly ran into him, her entire demeanor would be different. Now…she felt deflated and heavy as she tread a path to the ballerinas' dressing room.

"Christine! Oh my gosh!" Meg gasped, running to meet her just beyond the threshold with silence in the background as every set of ears eavesdropped. "I'm sorry! I didn't know the Vicomte was here, and I… Oh, you must _hate_ me! I'd hate me if I were you. I interrupted a moment, didn't I?"

"No, not at all," Christine answered, patting Meg's hand with as much of a smile as she could muster.

"But what did he want?" one of the other ballerinas chimed in a conversation she wasn't supposed to be a part of.

With an idle shrug, Christine cast a glance at the many observing gazes and replied, "He was on his way to the meeting, and he stopped to say hello. He was just being polite."

Not a single set of watching eyes looked convinced, but the conversation did not unfold further as one of the other girls whined, "All right, are we going now? We're wasting our freedom lingering here when we should be at the park already."

Nods all around, and the girls were rushing for the door. As the others exited, Christine caught Meg's arm and held her back.

"Christine, what's wrong?"

"I…I can't go with you," she decided with a frown.

"What? But we've been talking about this day for _weeks_!"

"I know, but…I forgot I have a lesson." The same lie she'd given Raoul, and it made sense to perpetuate it.

"A _lesson_?" Meg pouted, her frown making creases along her pale brow. "But you _can't_ have a lesson! Not today! This is a _tradition_!"

"I know. I'm sorry," Christine weakly attempted. "I forgot about it, and I can't miss it. But…go and have fun. I know you will, and you can tell me all about how beautiful the colors were later."

Meg still hesitated a path after the others, her green eyes speaking her disappointment even when she only replied, "Oh, all right. But music can't _always_ win, you know. Otherwise we'll start to miss you too much."

Another somber frown, and Meg was on her way. Christine stared after her for a long, regretful minute. A voice inside begged her to change her mind. She knew where the girls were going. It would be simple to pursue and offer another lie, maybe that she'd mixed up the days and was indeed as free as she was supposed to be. And then…then what would she do? Shout and laugh with the rest of them? Leap into leaf piles as if no one watched or judged? Be a _child_ when she was supposed to be a grown woman?

The thought twisted inside until with a huff of disdain, she wandered the now empty corridors to her dressing room and mercifully shut herself inside. Her ears half-expected an angel's voice to meet her. The angel's voice from the devil's corporeal body. It would have proven how often Erik had eyes on her every movement, but…to her surprise, she only received a silent mirror and her own miserable reflection staring back.

Well, she _did_ recall pleading desperately for the afternoon free; maybe he'd actually given it to her, complete with a lack of spying presence. But…this was the one time she wished he hadn't abandoned his almost aggravating post and hadn't listened to her request. She was alone; …she didn't _want to be_ alone.

The decision was made rather rashly, and never thinking it through for fear what truths lingered beneath the surface, Christine rushed to her mirror and sought the small latch that transformed it into a doorway. A small click had it parting and giving way to darkness.

A lit lantern was a necessity for a journey she had only taken alone twice. One of those times, she'd gotten lost and had had to retrace steps to locate the correct route. This time she guessed her conviction was stubborn enough to keep her on the right path. She needed… _company_ ; her obstinacy would not let her say she needed _Erik_. No…no, just _someone_ to help her forget her disappointment.

The catacombs were _dark_ , _dank_ , unwelcoming. Their dreariness was the only thing to make her hesitate and wonder how Erik was going to react to her unexpected appearance. With the chilled air hanging damp in her lungs, a day outside in the crispness of fall seemed an illusive dream that she couldn't have captured if she'd tried.

The sounds of her own breaths echoed the dark and insisted her intrusion, but she only quickened her pace, holding her lantern in front of her to cast a bigger and brighter pool. Erik had once implied that rats lived in the passageways; she'd never seen one to corroborate his hinted telling, but she always kept an attentive eye just in case.

When at last the narrow path widened to the scant beams exiting a concealed entry, she was grateful. How miserable a journey to make alone! She actually found herself eager to be inside, but…well, she had not deduced this part. Should she knock? Certainly, it wasn't her right to simply open the door, but knocking felt so formal, dubbing her a guest. Did the Opera Ghost _ever_ have guests?

Anxiety was the coil in her gut, but it never had to pop. Her train of thought halted with the arrival of music. A guest before she was, it had started the conversation without her, or so the piano sonata pouring out declared. She would have been jealous if not for the very viable fact that it made her decision easier. Knocking would go unheard, but entering relatively unannounced and calling attention away from keys and melodies would be justified.

With her excuse on her lips just in case temper spoke before a greeting, she quietly opened the door and stepped out of the dark. Erik's home was a rather cozy place, not at all what would have been anticipated considering its depth below the earth's surface. A well-stoked fire in the hearth chased lingering catacomb shivers away and cast a warm welcome that drew her tiny footsteps nearer.

Her once-dubbed angel sat before his piano, caressing a lovely tune out of its ivory keys. So lush and rich, it wove about her and nearly made her forget her intentions when she would much rather play a fly on the wall and merely listen without notice. Oh, his music! It was addictive and exquisite, brilliantly designed. How often had she willingly abandoned _hours_ as its victim?

Perhaps she would have passed the afternoon the same and continued her awestruck spying, but so sudden that she jolted, Erik halted playing mid-melody line, and a mismatched glare darted in her direction before she had time to decide if she should cower away. Angered shock softened to mere surprise as he bluntly demanded, "What are you doing here?"

He might not have asked it harshly, but the presence of that mask made even the gentlest words into a threat. It was stark accusation, and Christine abhorred the guilt it inspired. It always seemed to return her to thoughts of the day she'd ripped it away and _betrayed_ at the same time that she'd learned of _betrayal_.

Jittering now when in its regard, she simply replied, "You weren't behind my mirror."

"And is that where you expected me to be?" he interrogated back with an idle shake of his head. "Forgive me if I am mistaken, but I seem to recall in succinct and clear terms that I was told you _needed_ the afternoon free, that you might perish right here in the middle of a lesson if I denied you one afternoon away from my expectations and weighted future plans, that you had some ritualistic female bonding excursion to take with the ballerinas. Did I imagine that entire conversation? You made me sound like a _tyrant_ , cruel and without compassion."

Chewing on her bottom lip, Christine mused back on her chosen words, certain she had not been so eloquent or so accusatory. All right, she _had been_ melodramatic, but that had been a necessity to win her case. Erik was not the sort to grant time free from the music or from him. Even _one_ afternoon of leisure looked lazy to his regard. But to be fair, music was all he had; he could not understand the appeal of a world painted in fall colors or friendship from a gaggle of flighty girls.

"I didn't _say_ tyrant exactly," she attempted with a blameless wringing of anxious hands.

"You might as well have. If the definition fits…" The mask muted any expression, but she caught the edges of a grimace before he hastily justified, "You forget that everything I do is for _your_ best interest. If I push a bit too much, it is only because greatness is your destiny. Do not mistake a desire to motivate as cruelty. I am _not_ cruel to you," he stated, firm and inarguable, and his insistence alone revealed how intently he'd been dwelling on that point.

"You are not cruel," she conceded, trying not to surrender to a smile when a certain amusement came with knowing how deep a mark she could make on the almighty Opera Ghost. She doubted anyone else could have the same effect on him.

He took her words with the hint of self-satisfaction before returning to his original inquisition. "Tell me why you are not out with the ballerinas then…unless…" Mismatched eyes widened in the mask and made Christine nervous until he demanded, "They're not in the catacombs again, are they? Playing that ridiculously one-sided game of hide and seek with the Opera Ghost and sussing out what they deem to be clues of his actual existence?"

"No, that's All Hallow's Eve," she stated matter-of-factly in the face of his perturbation.

Erik pondered her news a breath, perhaps working through a calendar in his head before he groaned his discontent and snapped, "And we have not reached All Hallow's Eve yet, so I suppose I have _that_ to look forward to. A flock of hysterical little girls wandering the paths just beyond my doorway, shrieking at every cobweb they come across." Each detail was listed with a deeper amount of disdain.

"I probably shouldn't play along this year," Christine decided with the hint of a smile. "It would be cheating since I know too much and could very well lead them to your home and ultimate proof that you _do_ exist."

Narrowing his glare on her, Erik replied, "Yes, for my sanity, _don't_ play along. Perhaps I will be intelligent and choose to take the night off haunting that evening. Leave the opera house entirely and let them frighten themselves into oblivion."

He seemed as if he would continue before suddenly halting his consideration and accusing, "You're avoiding answering my question and giving me a reason for your presence on my doorstep, which _must_ lead me to conclude that something is wrong. What happened, Christine? Was that snitty one…Cecile being rude to you again? If she is the cause of your disappointment, I could play at her level and give her something disappointing in return. Perhaps…steal into the ballerinas' dressing room and remove the laces on every pair of her toe shoes. Nothing dire, as I know you do not favor a vengeful Opera Ghost. Just something to cause her aggravation and teach her the meaning of consequences."

"No, no," Christine hurriedly corrected. "It's not Cecile this time. No… The Vicomte came to see me."

A vibrant and violently-struck chord rang out from the piano, so sudden and loud that Christine jumped with a sharp gasp. Her sound went lost amid a rather aggressive piano sonata. Quick moving passages seemed a necessity for fingers she had no doubt were tense with annoyance and a tinge of rage.

"The Vicomte, you say?" Erik spat, never calming his churning current of music as he simply spoke louder over the agitated melody. "Let me guess. He appeared in his façade of gallant hero and attempted to recompose your planned afternoon of female bonding with his own selfish intercession."

She couldn't argue what was actually true and instead defended, "I didn't go with him."

"Nor did you go with your friends. Is _he_ the reason why then?" The sonata was still an allegro, but the volume lowered as he awaited an answer.

"Unintentionally, but…" Christine lowered abashed eyes from the mismatched colors seeking to delve within her and pluck out the answer himself. She needed a shield against the power of his stare, but all she had was avoidance and the uncontrollable tremble racking her limbs as she explained, "He reminded me that I'm not a child anymore, and I realized that running about with the other girls and jumping into leaf piles is _childish_ , so I didn't go with them."

"Jumping into leaf piles?" Erik inquired with genuine confusion so vivid that even though she wouldn't glance up, she could _hear_ the perplexed expression on his masked face. The idea alone reasserted the fragments of a smile on her lips.

"Well, yes…," she justified, smile only growing. "Have you ever seen the trees in the fall, Erik?"

"Trees? …When you said you were going out with the ballerinas, I imagined decadent desserts at a café and a deafening plume of endless giggling. What exactly did this outing entail then?"

"The park and the trees and jumping into the piles of fallen leaves left along the walkways. It's…silly fun, and the Vicomte made me realize _how_ silly."

When she spoke without eyes on him, she could imagine she was telling her angel her secrets. How many words she'd given in utter confidence. He'd been her mentor and her _friend_. She usually did not grant the man now in his place the same powerfully open trust, but this time…disappointment was the empty hole in her chest, and it brought a wave of tears she could not entirely control. More childishness, to _cry_ over something lost. She wondered if that was what adulthood was made up of: a string of disappointments and the bitterness they inspired.

"Christine," Erik sighed her name, and she couldn't stop herself from peeking up at him just to catch a glimpse of the emotions she heard. They were as much a drug as his music. So pure and intense. Sometimes it was difficult to breathe beneath them, and sometimes it was impossible to live without them.

"Am I a silly child in _your_ eyes, Erik?" she suddenly demanded, knowing he saw the tears collected in the corners of her stare.

"Never."

There were layers in that single word answer, but she decided to leave them unpeeled and hurriedly went on, "But I believed in a fairytale story about angels without doubt like a child and… I wanted to jump in leaf piles like a child."

The melody coming from the piano's belly wound down to gentle arpeggios as he insisted back, "And why shouldn't you? This morning jumping in leaf piles was your set intent, and you were obliviously _happy_. Why does the one bad thought the Vicomte put in your head change that?"

"He…," she stammered for an answer before concluding, "He opened my eyes to what the world sees."

"And you would truly give the world's opinion so much credence? To make yourself unhappy because of what _others_ think? …Others who you don't know or care for? Christine… That world is saturated in judgment and viciousness. You can never live up to _everyone's_ expectations of you. You need to consider whose expectations and opinions mean something and whose don't. The strangers criticizing from their shady corners should matter for nothing."

Christine hated being reprimanded; it was only another point dubbing her a child, but instead of cowering, this time she made the very grown up choice to speak up for herself. "You wish me to have a career center stage where the world's eyes will _always_ be on me. Shouldn't I be leery of the picture I'm putting forth? La Carlotta would not jump in leaf piles."

He scoffed his distaste and protested, "La Carlotta wouldn't _want_ to jump in leaf piles, but not because it's childish. No, because not a single leaf is allowed to graze her self-called sacred air. _But_ if she _did want_ to, she _would_ , and she would never bat an eye at any derogatory insult the world threw at her in reply. That's the only difference between the two of you that I do not favor. You would let the world and the _Vicomte_ sway you when a diva needs to be fearless and brave, confident in who she is and what she wants."  
"I wanted to jump in leaf piles," she said distantly, a frown tugging her lips further to despair. "And…I wanted an angel to love me forever." The quickest peek showed her the frown she'd created on his masked face to mirror her own. "You see, I _am_ a child. Only a child would be so frivolous and gullible…and so utterly selfish. Perhaps it _is_ time to grow up."

"Christine." His heavy sigh was laden in the many pains they'd caused one another. The regret and the aftermath of too many dreams broken at once. The sound burned her ears so sharply that tears threatened to rise.

"My…my room down the hall," she quickly stammered in lieu of a sob. Letters first, she bid and put her tongue in charge. "You said I could use it whenever I like. May I use it now? I think…I'd rather remain buried away down here than remember the colors outside the doors upstairs."

Erik's frown only deepened with her chosen words, but he kept comments silent this time, pouring them onto the piano instead as he replied, "Of course. The room is yours, and you may do as you please, but… Christine, I only wish for your happiness. You know that, don't you? All I've done, all I've said and equally the things I didn't say. It was all for you. …I don't want angels to go the way of lost childhood ideals."

She did not assure him. Not a single syllable, but he had the distinct suspicion that tears were in the forefront and if lips parted, they would tumble forth. Such pain in one so young and so undeserving of its timbre, and it only hurt Erik more to watch her spin on her heel and flee with the soft click of a closed door to speak a farewell.

Erik's eyes remained locked to the spot where she'd been standing, his memory conjuring her image to torture him onward with the color of her sorrow. His arrogance blamed the Vicomte completely, insisting _he_ was the one trying to rip Christine's innocence out from under her while his heart…his heart could not forget his own hand in the very same destruction. One by one, the sweet notions that characterized childhood and its naïveté were being plucked away from her, and when Erik had seen firsthand the cruelty and cynicism left in those without such idealistic escapes, it frightened him. He was not going to let Christine walk that path. He'd once used lies to try to keep her blissfully ignorant; this time he wouldn't go nearly so immoral in his quest.

An idea was forming. …A bit farfetched for a resident Opera Ghost and a man who was indeed a part of the more cynical mindset, but…for her, he would do anything, believe anything, _be_ anything.

As he continued absentmindedly coaxing a melody out of his piano, he soldered a plan and its details into place, and an uncommon smile tugged at his lips beneath his mask. Christine was going to love his little gesture; he just knew it. Now to find patience enough to hold off a little longer on seeing it through.

* * *

Christine did not emerge from her room all the afternoon hours. Her mind was a tormentor, conjuring pictures of everything she was missing out on. The ballerinas would have likely spent the day in the park, soaking in every crisp and refreshing second, laughing and playing with never a care attached. A part of her resented the fact that even if she'd gone with them, she wouldn't have been so carefree; no, she'd never be carefree again. …If this was indeed adulthood, it was certainly a joyless, miserable state. How unfair.

A knock at her door jarred her from thought, and as she glanced at her bedside clock and noted the evening hour, she called, "Come in," with never a motion to rise from the edge of her bed. Evening. Surely Erik was going to push her into a lesson, and oh, how she didn't feel like singing even a single pitch. It was going to be a disaster if she tried.

Her door parted, and she watched, pensive and silent, as he barely crossed the threshold, always a tentative question in the background. Well, of course, her mind taunted. Gentlemen did not simply enter ladies' bedrooms. Another point to adulthood when her childish mindset wouldn't have even noticed Erik's hesitation. Her eyes had been opened today, and it was a pity she could not close them again.

Sighing softly, Christine rose from the mattress and stated for him, "It's time for my lesson, I realize."

"No, not tonight," he countered, and she eyed him, suddenly suspicious.

"Not tonight? You _never_ let me miss a lesson. You said, not unless _death_ is the excuse."

That comment earned her the slightest crack of a smile. She almost wished the mask did not steal so much of its portrait. "Yes, well, we needn't go so drastic this evening," he replied with lingering hints of that grin. "I just thought… You touted the colors of fall so brilliantly. I'd like to see if your passion was merited. A walk through the park should suffice."

She was hesitant. "I don't think-"

"If you worry about observation, it is certainly past sunset above," he quickly added. "I doubt many linger in the park after dark. No one will spy you wandering the city with a masked freak."

Christine quickly shook her head and corrected, "That was never my concern. It's only… If it's dark, you won't be able to truly enjoy the colors." And that _was_ her reluctance; it never even occurred to her to take pause over masks or their connotations.

"No, no, if it's dark, I think I shall enjoy the colors even more so," he decided. "If it's dark, …you've never seen colors so bright. Let me show you what I mean."

There was that constant voice in her head that spoke warnings. Always warnings when it came to the Opera Ghost, but her heart was lined in an anticipation that had not completely fizzled out, a longing to be outdoors and live fall. And at its urging, she gave a slow nod and collected a cloak.

Erik watched her with a sense of longing he could never quiet or denounce in her presence. _She_ was its inspiration, and the grace of her motions charmed it onward. She had no idea how merely the way she wrapped herself in her cloak enchanted him. Every detail so delicate. She moved with music in her every gesture, and he was doubtless that was a gift that was exclusively _hers_.

His eyes followed the legato line of her inherent melody as she lifted hands to her curls and tucked them into a drawn hood. Then fingers were a lovely trill tying a precise bow at her neckline. And then…then like a glorious cadence, blue eyes met his stare and held him transfixed in her finale. How he longed to gush an overcome "brava".

His gaze said too much. He was sure of it as he watched her shift a bit uncomfortably and await further instructions that he stammered to give, "All right. …Let's go then."

Oh, how he abhorred seeming anything less than dignified and put together! But she always threw him from his perch and made him so abysmally _normal_! Little different than any other lovesick fool. …And he might have loved her as much as he hated her for that.

He peeked at her from the corner of his eyes as he led the way to the door and caught the trace of a smile on her lips. A _smile_ as he was being tortured inside for what he wanted and could not have. A _smile_ for his undeniable awkwardness. Anyone else would have met death for such an insult, but…all he could think about was making her smile onward.

Their journey above was relatively silent. Not much more than single words until they emerged in the world above. Night had indeed arrived early, streetlights the only glow around them, and the faintest scent of char and ash tainted the chilled air.

The softest sigh captured Erik's attention, and glancing at his companion, he saw her engrossed in the details as she soundlessly breathed, "Fall."

He was almost loath to break her mesmerized fixation, but he softly coaxed, "Come on," and continued onto a rather peaceful sidewalk. Perhaps it was the seasonal chill in the air that chased people indoors. He himself felt like a cold-blooded creature after so long dwelling in the catacombs, so to him, it was rather comfortable. But he noted how Christine cuddled deeper into the folds of her cloak, and he concluded that most people needed to adjust from season to season. Of course, and to him who preferred the cold, the heat of summer was practically the fires of hell when he dared to venture out, which was a rarity. In fact, as he surveyed the city streets critically, he recalled that he hadn't seen their details in _weeks_ , certainly long enough for their new transformation.

Fall's nuances were everywhere one looked. The trees and bushes scattered about beneath the light poles and lining walkways were kissed in new colors. The streetlights gave an unnatural illumination of oranges and yellows, fall's trademark hues, and yet the walkways were mainly clear of anything but a stray fallen leaf. It was disappointing and quickened his pace as he brought Christine toward the awaiting park.

True to his prediction, the park was nearly abandoned and _theirs_ for enjoying. He noted no more than a stray couple beyond the iron gates, and they were on their way out, perhaps anxious as the shadows stretched low and night settled in.

 _People_ were his first regard, but then…then he noted Christine's beaming grin and transferred attention to the world beyond them.

Fall was full of colors. He knew this, but actually living it was something new and rather delightful in present company. Again streetlights were the primary illuminators…until they passed the entryway. Then the fat and brimming harvest moon took over and cascaded silvers into various orange palettes, making new, undiscovered and unnamed shades altogether.

As Christine had described, the park was in its own seasonal transition. Walkways were clear of ambling leaves, but only because large piles sat on the grass between trunks of balding trees. All was relatively organized without a gust of wind…or leaping ballerinas to disturb leaves in repose. He could imagine the mess the park caretakers had had on their hands earlier in the day considering the number of tutu-ed brats destroying order and creating chaos.

Casting a furtive glance at Christine's enchanted expression, Erik dared to wander toward the nearest leaf pile from the walkway. One more peek to make certain she was watching, and he waded into the fallen wares of fall, earning a deafening rustle and crack of decaying foliage for the effort. Two steps into the mass, and he made a little hopping motion that did nothing more than ignite another crunch of sound…and then a bubbling giggle that charmed his ears at first pitch.

"What are you doing?" Christine demanded between bursts of laughter as her cold hand darted to her lips to capture a few more giggles before they hit the air. Erik looked genuinely confounded, and that only triggered more laughs she could not control.

"Jump in the leaves, you said," he replied matter-of-factly, as if such an answer were obvious fact, and to her further amusement, he made another miniscule hop before commenting, "Although I am really not understanding the enjoyment in this. _This_ is what caused your earlier disappointment and disillusionment with the world? _This_? _This_ is what you feared the world would judge and dub childish? I mean…I look ridiculous doing it, I suppose, but…aside from the noise of dismembering leaf carcasses, there isn't much to it."

Another hop, and Christine could not contain an outpouring of giggles so powerful that she hugged her aching belly. She had to blink away tears just to glimpse Erik's continued befuddlement and watch him gradually become infected with her contagious amusement.

"Christine," he called with the faintest trace of a chuckle. It was such a new and exhilarating sound when she had never heard it before. "Your humor says I'm doing this wrong," he decided, "but I cannot reason in what respect I'm lacking. Was 'jump in the leaves' some sort of idiom for something more dramatic?" His perplexed stare wandered the many tree trunks before returning to her unending grin, and he demanded, "Please don't tell me you climb these trees and jump _out of them_ into the leaves. It better not be anything so dangerous because I will _not_ be partaking in any such activity, and I expressly _forbid_ you on that regard as well."

His genuine worry brought another giggle that stayed wavering her voice as she insisted, "No, we do _not_ jump out of trees. …Although if _you_ wished to try that, I would not stop you. It would likely be a further point of hilarity."

"And I would likely break my back," Erik returned in a snap, but his usual temper was dulled down. She could guess it was because she was still smiling. It was not the first time she'd noticed that a smile could cool the inferno of his inherent rage. If she were happy all the time, she had a suspicion that she could rewrite his characterization altogether and make anger impossible.

Biting her lip for a second to quell the brightness of her grin, she then bid, "In lieu of breaking bones, I will demonstrate the correct way to jump in the leaves. Watch closely because you're next."

It was an invitation better sense wanted to regret. She'd never been this bold or playful with the Opera Ghost, but then again she'd never _played_ with the Opera Ghost, never anything along the lines of pleasure or childishness. This was foreign territory, and though sense was yet hesitant and opposed, the rest of her savored the strange lightness in the air between them.

One last second of holding the unending hope in mismatched eyes, and she was off, running from the walkway onto the soft, uneven grass. A cry of glee left her lips without her permission en route to a vast collection of leaves that seemed to beg her to join them. Almost there, and she jumped, leaping off her feet without fear. The fall air encompassed her, blowing her hood back and releasing her curls as she landed on her side in the soft, rustling leaf pile. The scent of the leaves wafted around her the second she was in their clutches as without a thought to her observer, she rolled onto her back and cuddled into their makeshift bed.

A million memories rose to haunt her, a million times she'd jumped into leaves, side by side with her friends in recent years, alone as a child while her father urged her on. A million jumps all exploding on her memory's canvas and leaving euphoria in their wake. This was what it was to be alive.

On the wings of her thought, she lifted her head to glance back at her awaiting companion. He stared with that same gleam of euphoria, and for half a second, it was as if he'd relived the memories with her. But no. Maybe she was simply too transparent, and they were being shown like a picture show in her every expression.

"Erik, are you going to try it?" she asked, but before he could answer for fear he'd deny the offer, she changed her approach. "Jump in the leaves with me, Erik."

She knew he wouldn't be able to refuse, not when he seemed to yearn for the very permission to join her world and live _with_ her instead of _beneath_ her. The spark of mischief she caught in his gaze was utterly unexpected and intriguing in the split second before he ran.

There were dozens of leaf piles between the tree trunks, and yet Christine knew no surprise when he bounded straight for the one she reclined within. A dive, and he landed in the center of the pile. She both cringed and giggled at the boisterous, cacophonic shriek of dozens of disturbed leaves as the pile shifted and she sank deeper into the pool.

A groan was his greeting before he stretched out beside her. "Was that right?" he urgently demanded. "Because I think I did it wrong. My elbow hit the hard ground at the bottom of this accident-inducing _lie_ , and I can still feel the radiating _pain_ up my arm. _Enjoyable_ , you called this? It seems like taking one's life into one's hands with a prayer for the continued usage of _limbs_ afterwards!"

Christine couldn't keep from laughing at his cynicism. "It's _exhilarating_ ," she corrected, relishing the way the leaves cradled her head and sang in her ears. "Just…lay back, Erik, and look up and _breathe_."

Erik didn't want to obey when his vision was filled with Christine and her absolute happiness. It was beaming out of pinkened cheeks and the dozens of orange and brown leaves hugging her. But with a sigh, he rested his head back and let his eyes roam upward.

Above them were the stretching branches of the nearest tree. They were eerie black shadows with only moonlight to glow and glisten any lingering hints of orange. Every so often, another leaf brethren leapt from its home, making its suicide jump and cascading almost gently on the subtle fall breeze to its perilous demise. It was a humbling sight when Erik considered that each and every tree was coated in hundreds and thousands of leaves. To be present for the deaths of a select few made them special and forever recalled. They met their end, left to decay or burn in the fires boasted in the distance, and yet they would be reborn and beautiful again come spring. The season's eternal promise, and it had taken jumping into a leaf pile for him to ruminate upon it. And it suddenly made sense.

Turning his head to glance at Christine meant a dozen leaves tattling his furtive motion. But he savored a view of her profile as she watched more leaf suicides, and he told her, "I suppose I now understand the root of your disappointment. It was not so much for the actual leaping part, although that was strangely agreeable. It was for _this_. The feeling of fall and the recognition of time's passage. Too many people circle the world and never take pause to notice their surroundings. And life passes them by without them even living it. …I myself am guilty of that."

A rustle of leaves accompanied the motion as she turned to meet his vigilant stare. "But isn't it childish?"

Erik studied her in the scant bits of moonlight that caressed her smooth cheeks, oddly content reclining in a leaf pile if she were his one and only companion. As he met the hesitation in blue eyes awaiting an answer, he concluded, "I think the world would benefit immensely from people being childish now and again. Children see the world so innocent and pure; they find the magic growing up takes away. They _believe_ , and they are _happy_."

"I believed in angels," she whispered, and as always, the mere mention of the word brought a stab of guilt to his heart. "And I was _happy_ ," she went on with a flicker of sadness. "And then the magic disappeared, and I was forced to grow up. Being childish isn't always a gift. Not when innocence can earn you a broken heart."

Her admission was a dagger piercing deep and leaving a wound, and without a thought, Erik lifted himself on his elbows and leaned over her, forcing her to keep his gaze when she seemed desperate to look away. His pain was in his voice as he softly bid, "You mourn as if your angel left you and you were a fool to believe. But _I_ never left you, Christine, and your belief wasn't a hindrance; it was a blessing. At least, to _me_ , it was. You are not ignorant to believe in angels or to jump in leaf piles; the ignorant ones are those who don't and those who judge. They are the ones we must pity because they _can't_ believe. So jump in leaf piles, Christine, and believe in angels, and know the rest of the world _envies_ you for it."

Christine listened intently to his words and felt them strike a revelation within her. She'd never considered that anyone could envy her for any reason at all. Who was she but an orphan with a broken home and a nonexistent angel in a mask… But the adoration in the blue and green eyes looming over her was stunning to behold. They weren't the eyes of an angel, but an angel wouldn't heave leapt in leaves with her to make her happy. Maybe this was something _better_ than angels to believe in.

As she watched through hazy eyes, Erik reached out and collected a leaf that had been tangled in her curls, tossing it into the pile as he bid in whispers, "If someone walked by at this moment, they would judge you far more for the company you are keeping than leaping into leaf piles. A child wouldn't give a second thought. You are not a child, and sometimes I mourn that fact more than you could ever mourn an angel. …A child loves freely and unconditionally."

Love was a word heavier than any other in recorded language. She couldn't speak its letters, but she could give hope without them. "If someone walks by and judges me for the company I keep, I will pity them because they are _envious_ of what is mine to keep."

His revelation put forth on her lips, and she smiled at the awed appreciation in his stare. He was still leaning over her, closer than he'd ever dared to be, and as moonlight made a luminous halo around his shape and whispered of angels, she was content to look at the world with childlike eyes, to be the Opera Ghost's muse and companion, to rest in the leaves beneath the fall, night sky and _live_. What did she care for the world's opinion when the man above her gazed with such adoration and looked at her as if she herself had created the fall and hung the very moon in the sky.

Grinning with unending delight, she suddenly proposed, "Do you want to jump in more leaf piles with me?"

And to her elation, he replied, "Most certainly. Let's jump in them all and leave this park a complete disaster for the caretakers to repair tomorrow."

Christine was laughing as she scampered out of the leaves, plucking random dissenters from her gown before racing for her next jump. Her shouts of excitement filtered through the night and were only louder whenever Erik chuckled and jumped with her. Perhaps people passed by on the walkways and saw them acting like children, but she never cared for even a second. She jumped and landed in unladylike fashions; she threw leaves up in the air and occasionally at Erik mid-giggle. She believed in the magic of fall and of angels and never regretted a single moment. And she decided that she would rather stay half a child forever than fully grow up, and anyone who judged her for it was only _envious_ they could not do the same.

* * *

"This way! This way!" a high-pitched voice shouted, and in the blinding darkness, Christine could not tell which of the ballerinas had spoken. They all sounded the same when broaching extreme levels of hysteria, and certainly wandering the catacombs on All Hallow's Eve was the utmost level and only ear-piercing at every letter.

Meg was nearest to her side and grabbed her arm fanatically every few feet lower as she muttered nonsensical syllables under her breath. Christine deciphered bits of prayers and frantic self-chastisement and many musings of 'why, oh, why' as she hid giggles at the absolute ridiculousness of it all.

"This tunnel _has_ to be the one he uses," a voice called over the whimpers, and Christine deciphered it as Cecile's. Cecile might have been the best at putting on a brave façade, but Christine was doubtless she'd screamed as loudly as the rest a few cellars back when a spider had crossed their path.

"Maybe we should go back!" Meg hissed at Christine.

"You say that every year," Christine reminded, letting Meg claw her arm tighter.

"You _agreed_ with me last year! Why are you so calm this year?" Meg demanded back, and Christine was grateful that in the darkness, her friend could not catch the many smiles she'd given since this adventure had started.

"I'd call it maturity, but I prefer being a child to an adult any day," Christine bid with a definite nod.

"Since _when_?" Meg chided. "You chose a voice lesson and _responsibility_ over jumping in the leaves and being a delinquent with us! I'd call that pretty adult-like."

"Well, I won't do that ever again. I was so despondent over that choice that I actually dreamt that night of going to the park and destroying every leaf pile to make up for missing out." Half a lie and half the truth, and she giggled silently to ponder the curses the park's caretakers must have given her and Erik and their handiwork at first light the next morning.

"How unsatisfying the dream must have been to the real thing!" Meg decided with a sigh. "You were very missed that day, and I'm going to remind you of your words of _never_ missing out again the next time we want to do something silly and positively immature. You are not allowed to grow up without us, you know."

"I say we _never_ grow up," Christine replied. Her point was made valid as all of a sudden, their lantern went out and a deafening shrill chorus of screams arose in the dark passages.

"Oh, dear God!"

"The Ghost!"

"Light the lantern, Jammes! _Now_!" That one was Cecile whose brave façade had evaporated.

A moment of sheer panic, the rattle of a shaking hand trying to bring back the light, and a lot of whimpering and whining before at last, their meager glow returned.

"That's it! I'm going back!" one of the girls shouted with agreement all around.

"Going back?" Cecile reprimanded. "Scaredy cats! You're _ruining_ All Hallow's Eve!"

"The light just went out _by itself_!" Jammes protested. "You can't tell us that's not a sign that the Ghost is near and unhappy with our intrusion."

" _Of course_ he's unhappy with our intrusion!" Cecile yelled. "Isn't that the point? It's All Hallow's Eve! You _wanted_ to be scared! The first one of you who runs upstairs, I will _never_ let you forget it!"

"Better to be a coward than _dead_!" Jammes snapped, and since she was the one with the light, the second she turned, every girl did with her.

"Jammes, you ridiculous-"

"Wait!" Meg called over the drama. "Oh my gosh! Where's Christine?"

"She probably ran back upstairs already," Cecile concluded with a melodramatic huff. "I suppose I can now call _her_ the biggest coward of all, which means the rest of you chickens can cluck your way back up and end the game already without consequences from me."

"So you say because _you_ want to go back up," Jammes corrected with a glare.

" _Christine_ is the quitting coward. Not _me_."

"Stop!" Meg shouted. "Christine was right behind me. She did _not_ go back up. Oh God! The Ghost got her!"

All the ballerinas cast wide-eyed glances around at every dark corner before Cecile concluded, "Let's go upstairs and check if she's there. If she is, then she's a coward, and if she's not… Happy All Hallow's Eve…?"

"But Christine-"

"Meg, come on!"

As soon as the rustle of tutus was a faint echo, Erik dropped his hand from Christine's mouth, shivering at the kiss he now wore branded into his palm. With one last glance the way the ballerinas had gone, he drew her out of the shadowed corner and into a full embrace.

"Do you want to haunt the corridors with the Opera Ghost?" he bid in whispers above her ear. "It's All Hallow's Eve, and we can certainly frighten your friends on their way back up and stop them from playing this Ghost game every year."

"No," Christine decided with a smile. "Let them play. It's fun for them. They don't know you truly exist, nor do they need to worry about being carried off by the Ghost like I do."

"Worry?" he teased, molding her closer to his body. "Do you _worry_ about the Opera Ghost carrying you off, Christine?"

"No, I _anticipate_ it, and the rest of the world should _envy_ me for it. Because I believe in angels and ghosts, and I have a world full of magic to live in."

"A childish view of the world," he commented as his hands twined in her hair.

"Exactly."

"The world will judge you for it," he reminded, brushing a kiss to her crown. "And for the man you _love_ , Christine."

She gave one thought to the Vicomte, to the opera patrons, to a world full of cruelty and a lack of innocence, and she shrugged uncaring shoulders. "Let's make a better world, _ange_ , where we can jump in leaf piles and play ghost games and _love_ to our hearts' content."

Christine heard the smile in his voice as he replied, "Then I will give you magic to believe in now and forever. I will write us a better world. …Is that what you want, my love?"

"Yes," she answered without pause or doubt. "Forever, Erik."

With a grin of delight, Erik swept her into his arms and carried her into the darkness of his world. There would be judgment from outside; there would _always_ be judgment. But he was determined to keep building Christine better dreams to make up for it. If in the real world, it was childish to jump in leaf piles and believe in angels, in _his_ world, it was anything but. It was truly _living_. She was teaching him that.

In the cellars above, little ballerinas scampered, their footsteps echoing down on their way out, but below, the Opera Ghost played on with his love as if no one else existed. And they were happy.


End file.
